


Water's Edge.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels), valuna



Series: Law & Mind [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Dracula 2000 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-28
Updated: 2005-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerry takes Jon to the scene of the crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water's Edge.

Some nights it doesn't pay to be in bed. There's no sleep to be found. Night's like tonight, when the 100% Egyptian cotton sheets are even too rough for Jon's skin. He tosses, turns, tries to get settled a million times --

_Thirty-four to be exact. He's counting._ \--

Nothing's helping. Not even late-night TV. It's _X-Files_ and the paranormal exploits of Mulder and Scully, usually rather amusing, aren't even soothing. It's a Krycek episode, though, and that's endorphin-surging for a half hour.

Then it's back to counting sheep. Only that requires closing his eyes. And in the vivid blackness of his eyelids come the images. Unbidden. No getting rid of them.

The watch. It tells time no more, but it tells a story, weaves a tale of power. The man in the tux, tailor-made, but not a man any longer. Just a body. Barely that. Nothing more than tatters caressed by swamp water. It had stopped at 1:22 a.m. That's when the party ended. There's a fight. Jon can see it. Present tense, being played out in his mind. His body is pressed into the marble column. A hundred floors up.

The buttons. They weren't torn off in violence. Not the killing kind. It was passion. The sex came first. Jacket ripped off. Buttons tossed into his pocket before they left.

The ring. Thrown in anger, one to the other.

Then death. Hands around throat. Choked. But that didn't kill. No.

_Fuck._ Jon sits up in bed. No more sleep. He looks over at the clock. 5 a.m. Too damned early to call Gerry. But not too early to run. That'll work off enough energy till it's a more reasonable hour.

Jon takes the long way through the neighborhood, and that brings him back to the kitchen and putting on coffee around 7. A long shower. He looks at the clock. 7:19. "Gerry has to be awake." He picks up the phone and hits the speed dial number, filling a mug with heavy cream and coffee as he listens to it ring.

Gerry's cell phone vibrates on his desk and he checks the number. He sighs with relief. Jon. Thank god. He's gotten more than a few questions when he'd returned to the station. _Tell me you have good news._ He puts the headset on and accepts the call. "Butler."

"I thought he wasn't killed there, but he was. And it was after something went wrong. The ring's the key." Jon takes a sip of coffee, realizes he hasn't even said hello. "Didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, no, I'm at my desk." He already has his pad in front of him, and he's tapping the end of his pencil against it. He's getting looks from the other cops and he waves them to be quiet. "Where's there? He couldn't have been killed where we found him."

"No, he wasn't killed at the swamp. It was at the party. Corporate office. High up. View of city skyline. Come get me. Now."

Corporate office? A high floor? _Something isn't right._ Someone like that wouldn't have gone missing quietly. There'd be a missing persons report, at least, possibly media attention. These things just don't happen quietly. "Yeah. Give me a few minutes to get down there." He catches the look of his partner and clears his throat. "Jon, do you mind if we have company?"

"Company? Who?" Jon trusts very few people, but if it's someone Gerry feels comfortable with, then it's all right.

"A few cops." Gerry points to his partner and two others. "Following in a car behind us."

Jon doesn't like that idea. The cops don't like him, most of them. "Gerry, I didn't think the others approved of me. This isn't science. I'm not sure where I'm leading you."

No, they don't approve. They think that Gerry's taking risks and that it's stupid, and that Jon's a hoax. But Gerry doesn't believe it. "I don't care. They won't bother you."

"I trust you, Gerry." Jon lets out a sigh, takes in more coffee. "If you want them, that's fine. Shouldn't disrupt me."

Gerry doesn't particularly want his fellow cops around, but there's no way they're going to let him to the crime scene with a civilian. "You won't even notice them," he promises. "I'll be there in a few."

"Fine." Jon toggles the phone off. There's no more reason to talk. He leans against the counter, finishes his coffee, trying to reassure himself it'll be all right, that things won't backfire with the others there.

Gerry hits 'end' and then puts his phone in his pants. He stands up and picks up his coat. "Stay behind us," he orders. "You'll make him nervous."

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Fine, Ger. Whatever you want." They'll humour him. It seems to get results.

As long as they go along. Gerry gets into the car and drives over to Jon's place, very aware of being followed.

Jon's waiting on the front porch, jacket pulled on over button-down shirt and jeans. He doesn't wait for Gerry to get out of the car, but walks down the steps, shrugging his backpack over his shoulder. He glances at the car following, shakes his head. It's not going to be a good day. And after the night he had, that's the last thing he needs.

Gerry opens the door from the inside and holds it open for Jon. He doesn't look too good. Very tired. He has a brief stab of guilt for working Jon hard, and then he smiles at him, professional and welcoming. "How was your night?"

"Shitty. Dreamed about being killed. Yours?" Jon slides into the seat, buckles up.

"Dreamed about floating in a swamp, no one knowing who I am." Gerry takes the car out of park. "Sorry about it all."

"It's okay. It's the job we do." That's a nice lie people like Jon and Gerry tell themselves. It's never _okay_, just tolerable. "It's going to sound insane, Gerry, but there's something we're missing. Something at the swamp. How was he killed? Actual cause of death."

Gerry appreciates the platitudes. It's nothing he hasn't told himself a thousand times. "Heart failure. How everyone dies." He sighs. "What caused it was a mixture of extreme trauma, loss of blood, and some other nasty things."

"Nasty things? Be specific. I saw choking, a lot of violence, not all of it unwelcomed."

"Not all of it unwelcomed?" Gerry looks at Jon. "What do you mean?" There were signs of strangulation, but it didn't kill him. It just helped the victim down that long path.

"I mean your victim got off on some of the violence. The buttons on the tux," Jon says, turning and watching Gerry's face as he explains his dream. "They were pulled off at the party before he was killed. And I flashed last night on choking, but that's not what killed him. It was supposed to be foreplay, but something went wrong."

_Oh, shit._ Gerry's had some interaction with the kinds that like it rough. He hates it. "What happened, did he say the wrong name?"

Jon laughs. It's as much to break the tension as actually thinking Gerry's being funny. "He wasn't that specific, Gerry. Remember, I said it's not an exact science. I just feel things, and sometimes the images are more vivid than others. Your killer's got a kink, I bet."

"Right." Fuck. Just what he needed. But it was still murder. It's still death. Gerry takes the turn off and pulls up in front of the swamp.

"Not as secluded as I expected." Jon leans forward, looking through the windshield. "And the body was found there." He motions to where yellow tape's still marking the crime scene. "Evidence of dragging, I assume. Where'd it start?"

Gerry unbuckles his seat belt. "I'll show you." He frowns. "Unless you don't want to get too close?"

"Want and need, opposite ends of the spectrum sometimes." Jon has the door open already and is sliding out, backpack in his hand. "I need to get close."

"Okay." Scenes been photographed, tested, checked from every angle. There's nothing Jonny can do now to fuck it up. There's twin door slams behind him as Gerry's fellow officers follow him into the crime scene.

Jon looks over his shoulder. _Just ignore them. They don't believe in what you're doing, so it doesn't matter._ He slings the bag down and ducks under the tape. The ground's soft, water level close to his feet. He hunkers down near its edge, sticks his hand down and feels along the bottom, fingers pushing through muck-mud.

Gerry stays behind him, exchanging glances with his friends. They don't believe Jon, but Gerry does, and that's what matters. But he has to admit that he has no idea what Jon's doing. Then again, on second thought, what did he expect? Jon to raise his hands and commune with nature?

Closing his eyes, Jon drops to hands and knees, crawling a few feet into the water. He's searching, letting his mind seek out the images. Nothing. Blackness. For five minutes. Ten. Then he opens his eyes. "That's what was missing. The choking didn't kill him. Really didn't hurt him at all. He was used to it. Banker. No one important. No family." He's rambling, stream of consciousness as the images assault his mind. "Killer knew him, but only briefly. Random encounter. The sex wasn't part of it."

Gerry moves closer as Jonny begins to talk, and he dips his hand in the muddy waters. "Sex wasn't part of knowing him?" Banker, not important, no family. _Not from around here, then._ "Did he pick him up, was he a hooker?"

Jon turns, startled by Gerry's voice. "Yes. Victim from Bloomington. Was here on business. Your killer, though, Gerry, he lives here. And he's done this before."

Gerry curses loudly. "Face, Jon. I need a face. A name." It's not evidence, but fuck it. It's a small town. He knows most of the people, and he can't believe that someone did this. Not someone from around here. No.

"Fuck it, Butler." Jon scrambles back up the slight incline, sits down in the mud, grabs his backpack and jerks out a sketch pad and pencil. "Blonde. Green eyes." He hastily draws a face, longish hair, pouty lips. He rips it off and shoves it up toward Gerry. "There. A face. Name starts with a C or K."

Gerry takes the sketch quickly. Normally he'd care about paper cuts, but he's been worn thin and stretched too far. C or K? The face doesn't exactly stand out.

"It's a hard name. Germanic. I've got in my mind, but it's not coming through." Jon shrugs. "Sorry. I can tell you he's late 20s. And the eyes aren't right. Their color's off. Like it should be bluer."

"Like color contacts?" But who'd wear those? Who'd disguise like that? Why not just wear a ski mask and gloves? "Germanic, with a K..."

Jon pulls himself up, mud dripping from water-soaked jeans. "Not a disguise. Vanity. He likes changing his eye color."

Gerry offers him his hand. "Vain, Germanic, and blond." There's something on the tip of his tongue, but, no. He's probably wrong. Can't jump to conclusions.

"That sounds about right." Jon takes Gerry's hand and stands. "Think you can find him from that?"

"I can do my best." Jon's given him clues and leads and none of it will hold up in court, but that's not Gerry's problem. "I can work from what you've given me. _Thank_ you."

"You're welcome." There's a smile on Jon's face. "Now get me home and into a shower and maybe a bed, and I can get that sleep I missed out on last night."

"Yes, sir." Gerry lets himself grin and he pecks Jon on the cheek. "You're a doll."

Jon isn't sure which startles more, the _sir_ or the kiss. He glances over at the other cops; they're not staring, so that's a good thing. "Yeah. Muddy, mucky doll right now. You got a tarp or something I can put down over the seat?"

"Yeah." After three weeks of nothing, he finally has something. He's given Jon nightmares before, and he thinks these'll be worse, but it's worth it. It's finally worth it. "In the trunk."

"Okay. Pop the trunk and I'll get it." Jon doesn't want to think about the dreams he'll have tonight. Or even the thought of sleeping alone. Maybe he'll just stay awake all night. Better than dreaming.

Gerry leads Jonny to the back of the car and opens the trunk. There's the usual stuff back there, and Gerry takes out handwipes. He doesn't know if he'll ever feel clean again.

"Think you can track him with this?" Jon takes a handwipe and rubs his hands. He's going to need a long, very hot shower. "I might come up with something else," he says, pulling the tarp out, "if I think on it a bit more. Maybe after lunch."

"Call me if you do." It's enough to start on, but Gerry's not going to turn down free information, no matter how much ridicule he'll get. Catching this guy is much more important than pride.

"Sure. If I wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, I'll call you."

Gerry grins. He has a sudden urge to ruffle Jon's hair. "That's the spirit. As long as I can return the favour."

"You do that, Gerry. Wake me up at 3 a.m." Jon uses another wipe and gets most of the muck off his hands. "Just let yourself in the house, nudge me over and be sure to start some coffee."

Right. Because that's exactly what Gerry needs, for people to think that he only asked Jon for help because he's shagging him. "Maybe I'll just call."

Jon smiles, shared moment of inside joke. "Probably better." He looks down. "I think I'm starting to set, Gerry. Wanna tell our friends to back up and we'll leave?"

It's not even noon. "Yeah. Wait here." Gerry walks over to his friends and tells them that he's driving Jon back. They nod, and Gerry jogs back to the car. "They're going back to the station. I'll get you home."

"Good." Jon opens the door, lays the tarp out over the seat and settles in. He lays his head back on the seat, letting out a long, slow breath. "This one's nasty, Gerry," he says as he hears the other door open. "Worst than the last one you called me in on."

"I'm not sorry, but I'm sorry for that." Gerry relaxes against the seat before rubbing his eyes. He's already so tired. "I wish life would slow down."

"Doesn't have to be so fast. You chose to be a cop." Jon turns his head, smiles at Gerry. "And don't be sorry. "You needed me. That's why you still have the number."

"I _like_ being a cop. I just hate it, some days." He doesn't thank Jon for not changing his number. He never feels good about pulling Jon into this. He never does it unless he has to, but he feels like he's giving Jon every wrinkle on his face.

"I know. Even without touching you, I can feel that." Jon says it without thinking. He's tired. He sighs. "Let's just go home."

Gerry closes his eyes. Jon always could read him. "Yeah." He turns the key in the ignition. "Home." He wishes he could go home also. Turn the investigation over to someone else and sleep without dreaming.

The drive back to Jon's house is quiet, neither of them talking, both too exhausted. It's only when Gerry's pulled into the drive, the car's idling and neither's making a move to open doors that Jon lets out the breath he's been holding. "You want to come in? Coffee's still warm from this morning."

He wants to come in, but he doesn't think he should. But fuck what he should. He needs it. He needs to unwind. "_Yes_. Thank you."

"C'mon, then." Jon opens the door and walks up to his porch. He's carrying his backpack and pulls it up enough to fish into the front pouch for his keys. Once inside, he drops it on the floor. "You know where the kitchen is. I'm gonna hit the shower. Won't be long."

"Thanks." He doesn't blame him one bit for wanting to shower. Gerry'd love to rub his skin off. "I'll get some lunch started." It's too early for lunch, but that doesn't matter. He needs to do something or he'll go mad.

"Lunch. Sure." Jon knows Gerry needs to keep busy. He toes out of his sneakers, leaving them next to the backpack, and quickly heads up the stairs, straight to the bathroom, stripping off the minute he's over the threshold. Shower on, water hot as he can stand it, and he's in before another thought crosses his mind, standing with hands braced against the wall, just letting the steam envelop and water sluice. Maybe it'll wash off the images along with the mud.

Gerry finds the grill in the corner and some cold meat in the fridge. He gets the grill on and heating up and preps the meat. It's automatic by now. He always makes this for Jon, when he's over. And he's rarely over, but that doesn't matter right now. Because right now all he can think about is the dead body, and the killer who's out there.

Jon stays in the shower till the water threatens to turn cold. He dries off, roughly toweling his hair, thinking he needs a haircut as he rubs the steam from the mirror. If he were alone, he'd just pull on a pair of boxers and head to the kitchen, raid the fridge, but he's not sure how Gerry would react. So he scrounges and finds a clean t-shirt and jeans, barely buttoning them and forgetting about socks.

"Something smells good," Jon says, walking back into the kitchen. "Take it you found everything okay."

"Yeah." Gerry turns to look at Jon. He looks good. His dick's sticking out, though. But Jon always did look better like that. "Siddown. How do you like your burger? Still welldone?"

"Yeah, burnt. You remember. I'm touched." Jon stretches, his shirt riding up, before settling onto one of the stools under the bar's overhang. He shouldn't be surprised that Gerry remembers; he's cooked Jon enough meals. "You douse it with Worcestershire?"

"Enough to drown it." Gerry knows exactly how Jon likes it. He takes it off the grill and puts it on the plate in front of Jon. "Eat up."

"Thank you, Lt. Butler. Can I have a soda with it?" Jon picks up his fork, cuts into the burger. It oozes rich, brown liquid. "Perfect."

"Yes, you may." Gerry slides the coke across the table, then takes his own burger off the grill. Maybe that's why he and Jon get on so well. They like their meat done up the same way. Gerry settles down on the chair, and stabs the fork into the burger.

Jon takes a few bites before popping open the Coke can and washing the meat down. "Damned good," he mutters through chewing. "Forgot I was hungry. Almost as good as crawling into bed."

Gerry rips a piece of burger off with his teeth, chews, and swallows. It's good. But anything would be good right now. Not eating comes with not sleeping. "You been sleeping?"

"It's hit-and-miss, but not last night. Didn't sleep at all." Jon takes another bite, chews. "When I closed my eyes, the dreams came, and there was no sleeping after that. You know how it is," he says, half-grinning, "the nightmares, visions that leave me sitting up in bed screaming."

"Yeah, I know." Better than some. Gerry grimaces. "Want some sleeping pills? They help me, when it gets too bad."

"Do you come with them?" Jon almost bites his tongue on finishing the question, but lets it stand. He cocks his head. "That wasn't fair. I know. Sorry."

Gerry winces. "I can bring some over. If you want. Cut them in half beforehand."

"That'd be sweet. Hand-feed 'em to me, too?" Jon's not wincing as much as Gerry. It's a half-grin. There'd been something, a spark, once. Maybe there was a flicker of it still hanging on.

"If you want me to." And fuck if that doesn't bring up images, and there are times that he really hates it that Jon can read him so well. Privacy is a bitch.

Jon continues chewing, letting the silence invade the room. He can't read Gerry's thoughts. Wishes he could sometimes. "Wouldn't mind it." It's a concession, an admission. "Do I need to ask you formally?"

He's a detective, for chrissake. Something like that, said like that, shouldn't make him blush. Gerry tears a bit out of the burger and swallows without chewing. "No."

"Okay." Jon's the one who usually blushes, but it looks nice on Gerry. "So, and this isn't formal or anything, think about coming back when you finish your shift today. You can bring the pills then."

"I can try." Gerry pops the top of his coke. "But there's the fact that I probably won't get off until late." He might even sleep on the cot in the corner, like he has so many times since the case started. It's so hard to go home with this hanging around him.

"You still got a key." Jon knows he never got it back. "Just let yourself in." Invitation extended, he goes back to finishing his burger.

"Thanks," Gerry mutters. It's a favor, but it doesn't feel like one. He needs to stop bringing Jon into these things. But it saves lives. That should excuse it. But it doesn't.


End file.
